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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184243">Safe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesAeza/pseuds/JamesAeza'>JamesAeza</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I can’t stop writing Intrulogical, send help [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Caring, Cutting, Gen, Logic | Logan Sanders is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Needles, Protective Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Self-Harm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:49:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,652</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesAeza/pseuds/JamesAeza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan finds that there's something relaxing in the act of self-injury. He cannot understand why Remus seems so upset about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I can’t stop writing Intrulogical, send help [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>195</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Safe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Alternate title: the author once again writes his comfort ship, this time projecting about cutting because he just relapsed for the first time in months and if his mom finds out he's probably gonna go to The Ward.</p><p>Anyway.</p><p>I hope you enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Logan frowned as he looked down at the glistening metal. A sharp scalpel with an intricate handle from a box of many similar ones, a gift from Roman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was considering it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted it, feeling how light and easy to use it felt in his palm. He’d used it before this, just not for anything similar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea wasn’t even his. He’d gone down an internet rabbit hole several months ago, learning what non suicidal self injury was and why people engaged in it. The most common response? It made people feel in control. Cleared their heads. And Logan couldn’t think of a better way to test it than on himself, on a day where he could use a bit of head-clearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed the tip to his wrist, from what he’d seen, the most common area for this behavior. Pressing just enough to cut the epidermis, he made a neat line before pressing a square of gauze to the affected area, watching it turn deep red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he watched the white darken, he analyzed his feelings. He had been successfully distracted, the sharp pain a welcome contrast to his fuzzy thoughts and feelings. He wrote the results down in a neat hand, careful not to stain the page with blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peeling the gauze off, he wiped away the rest of the blood, the area around the cut still stained pink. He placed the scalpel about half a centimeter away from the first incision, pressing down a second time. Writing down his results again, wiping the red off of his arm. Pensive, he moved to replace the scalpel once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was finished, he had a neat row of thirty or so red lines, still sticky and stained. He placed his whole arm under the tap, using warm water to rinse out the cuts. He then used a disinfectant before carefully wrapping them in bandages and cleaning up his workspace and tools. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he’d finished, he returned to his notes, looking through what he’d written in the heat of the moment and finishing up his conclusions. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long for him to swap his usual shirt for a similar one with long sleeves. He simply did not want anyone to feel concern over his experiment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t really call it an experiment for much longer, though, when it started happening monthly. Then weekly. Then every few days. Eventually, he felt as though he couldn’t function without hurting himself daily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever helped. It was increasing his overall mood and productivity, so why stop?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only issue was running out of space. It was not safe to cut over injuries until they were fully healed over, so eventually he was using both arms, all parts of his legs, even his chest, stomach, and hips sometimes. His favorite place remained the wrists. They were the most satisfying, though he had to admit the lower legs weren’t bad either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did have some downsides- feeling too hot, long sleeves getting in the way of things like doing dishes, the sting when anything touched him. But from what he could tell, the pros outweighed the cons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until the first time he needed stitches that he began to wonder if something might be wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thighs were surprisingly painless to cut, leading to deeper and deeper incisions that eventually ended up at fat; which looked yellow and bubbly and bled too much to be comfortable. Since the wound was on his leg, he was more than capable of sewing it up himself, vowing to be more careful in the future and a little afraid of what he could do to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the infection that really got the better of him. Careful as he was, he noticed a particularly wide cut becoming inflamed, the skin turning red, then purple, then black. It wasn’t long before he found himself feeling a bit unwell, taking his own temperature to find it high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan was in no way irresponsible enough to ignore a serious infection- unfortunately for him, however, the only way to get antibiotics was to ask one of the twins for it. If he asked Roman, Patton would be informed and go full concerned dad on him, and his secret would likely be out. Remus, while difficult to work with, was unlikely to spill. The choice was easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Remus narrowed his eyes. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I have been feeling unwell and according to my testing, I have managed to contract an infection.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The drug you’re asking for is usually used for infected injuries. I would know. Now, you’re too smart not to know that. Does this have anything to do with that experiment you’ve been working on?” He asked. “You,” his voice was accusing, “have been acting weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Umm..” It took Logan a moment to regain his composure. “I… I can’t say I know what you mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remus gave him a once-over with his eyes. He seemed to come to a decision pretty quickly. “Wrists. Now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrists. Let’s see them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan felt himself tense with.... Fear? Why was he afraid? He was simply doing what worked for him, there was no reason for Remus to care. Or tell anyone who might, for that matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silently, he offered up his hands, palms up. Remus, with surprising gentleness, took one hand in his and used the other to lift the sleeve. Logan looked away as his bandages were revealed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Remus break into his thoughts. “Is this what I think it is?” His voice sounded dangerous, and Logan cringed back. When he received no response, Remus began peeling away the bandages, Logan tensing with pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Logan.” Logan looked at him, wondering what it was he wanted. Remus sighed. “I take it you’ve been taking care of them, but you got an infection anyway?” Logan nodded uncomfortably. “And where’s the bad one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm… left thigh.” He wasn’t sure why Remus wanted to know. “Look, if you do not wish to supply medicine, I can ask Roman, but I can’t say I understand what you want from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, first of all, you are staying here,” he informed him, pushing him down onto the bed. “And yes, I’ll get you medicine, but-” he paused to look closely at Logan, realization hitting him. “You do not get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get what exactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remus sounded incredulous when he spoke again. “Why hurting yourself is bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” His voice was almost accusatory now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan ignored the urge to defend his honor. “I think you’re overreacting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remus scoffed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Overreacting? </span>
  </em>
  <span>These are overlapping, and I haven’t even seen the rest of your body. You’ve been doing this for months, probably every day, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn't notice.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He paused. “No one did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan for some reason felt the need to be comforting. “You were not expected to notice. I tried to be discreet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>should have.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan was silent, unsure how to respond as Remus finished getting the meds for him, seemingly in injection form. He watched quietly as Remus grabbed his arm, struggling to find a vein among the scarring. He sighed. “I am more than capable of administering it myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remus’s head snapped up to look at him. “Look, you have been hurting yourself for months, and I should have fucking noticed but I didn’t, and you fucking deserve better so </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re going to fucking let me take care of you or I’ll make you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan was shocked into silence as Remus finally pushed the needle in, doing nothing but staring at the other’s focused face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’d finished, Remus stood up, looking down at Logan who was still sitting on the bed. “Strip.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>strip. I want to see the damage.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something commanding in his voice that made Logan self-consciously start on his tie. His hands shook lightly as he worked on the buttons, anxious under Remus’s gaze. When he’d finished, Remus looked at him intensely. “Not exactly how I pictured you’d be naked in my bed,” was all he said before he started unwinding the bandages and inspecting the cuts. Logan’s face turned pink as he shuffled his feet a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take him long to finish, replacing the bandages with more gentleness than Logan had ever known he possessed. Then he snapped his fingers, and Logan blushed a little upon finding himself in a pair of space-themed pajamas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re staying here tonight,” Remus informed him as he grabbed a thermometer from the shelf, turning to Logan. Logan just nodded, sure that arguing would get him nowhere and it was likely that it was a good idea anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remus placed a hand on his chin, holding up the thermometer. “Open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already did this, I can assure you that I will be fine-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was interrupted by a deep growl. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m fucking taking care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shocked into silence, Logan let his temperature be taken. He was still unable to protest as Remus snapped again, and there was a big TV in front of them. “You like those documentaries right? How do you feel about true crime?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… yes, that sounds… pleasant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remus beamed as he found a show for the two to watch before beginning to set up a cot on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know-” Logan looked over to him. “Your bed is big enough for two.” Remus raised his eyebrows, the only movement needed to reduce Logan to a spluttering mess. He chuckled. “I know, I know, I couldn’t resist.” And with that he climbed into the bed, wrapping an arm around Logan. He rubbed his back gently. “We’re gonna fix this, I promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan wondered if maybe he was beginning to understand why Remus wanted to fix it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But for now, we’re just gonna be together, and you’re gonna be safe.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It just kinda came to me in the moment but now Remus and Logan bonding over true crime is a concept I have so much love for. <br/>Anyway, let me know what you thought, I always love receiving reader interaction!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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